Tear The World Down
by letherbeseen
Summary: Five strangers are connected by a curse that has plagued Beacon Hills for generations. AU where everyone is human, but there's supernatural elements going around. [Inspired by the show, Ravenswood.] Title previously called Beacon Hills.
1. Prologue

**Summary: Five strangers are connected by a curse that has plagued Beacon Hills for generations.**

 _ **Prologue**_

 _"Hey."_

Stiles Stilinski watched in surprise as a strawberry-blonde girl plopped herself down in the empty seat next to him. He was about to ask her why when she interrupted him.

"Got anything to eat? Gum? Mint? Cough drop?"

"No," he replied, glancing at her curiously. "I mean, I do. In my car."

The girl gave him a confused look, then looked around as if she hadn't heard him correctly. "You have a car?" she asked incredulously. "Why are you on the bus then?"

"Why are _you_ sitting next to me?" Stiles looked at her, waiting for her answer, shifting in his seat slightly.

"Well, it's not like it's standing room only," she said, flipping her curls over one shoulder.

Was . . . she hitting on him?

"Well, when I got back on, I went to the back," she continued. "But the dude in row 26 was creeping me out. So, I tried sitting next to the driver, but he doesn't have any food and I'm starving."

Stiles wasn't sure what to say. He'd been the only one on the bus besides Stiles and the bus driver and he had made him extremely uncomfortable. Now that he thought about it, all this talk about food was making him hungry. "Sorry," he told her, apologetic. "I didn't pack a picnic. I wasn't expecting to be on this bus."

He really hadn't. He swore he was never going to leave Roscoe behind, but his Jeep had had something happen to the engine and he'd needed to get it fixed. Probably from the excessive amount of tape he'd put underneath the hood. He remembered the tow truck driver giving him a strange look before he went and towed his beauty away. As much as it pained him, he would have to wait at least a month to get it back and repaired properly.

"Yeah, me either. I had to change in Harrisburg. This freak on the last one was so annoying. Kept telling me that he looked like Ryan Gosling in certain light. And I'm like, _'Dude, carry that light with you, because in this light, you look like Shrek.'_ " The girl paused as if she realized that she was still talking. She blew out a long huff of air. "So, where are you headed?"

"Beacon Hills."

"Oh, cool. Me too. You got friends there?"

"No, um, family,' he said. "But I haven't met them . . . _him_ . . . yet. I didn't even know my Uncle existed until like two weeks ago."

"Your parents never -"

"My mom . . . she's gone."

She was quiet for a moment. "Gone?"

"Dead."

Awkward silence ensued. Then the girl immediately tried to break the tension by drawing the attention of the guy in row 26, who was currently sitting all alone in the back of the bus.

"So, the creep in 26 fell asleep and he has a huge bag of chips. Do you think we can get away with stealing them?"

He stared at her, mouth opening and closing, unsure what to say. Finally, Stiles settled on saying, "Unless 60 people get on the next stop . . . I'd say we look pretty good for it."

She smiled. "Yeah." Her stomach growled at the mention of this. The girl glanced back at him before looking away. Stiles watched as she bit her lower lip.

"So, does he know you're coming?" the girl finally asked him, seeing through his lie. "Your Uncle?"

"Yeah, of course he does," Stiles scoffed, embarrassed that she had figured that out. "He's the only family I have."

 _Besides my dad,_ he thought.

"So, then, who're you living with now?"

"It's . . . complicated."

"Foster home?" she guessed calmly.

"You don't have to say it like that," he groaned. "You're not going to catch anything because we're sharing a seat."

"Hey, if there's something to catch, I've already got it. I've spent some time in a few of them myself."

Stiles noticed her avoiding eye contact with him. But he felt compelled to ask. "You running away?"

She turned her head to face him slowly, eyes lingering on his for a while before she leaned in, dropped her lips to his ears, whispering, "I'm stealing those chips."

She slowly rose from her seat, watching to see if the driver was paying attention as she headed toward the back. She slunk into the seat next to the sleeping man, waiting for a bit before grabbing a rolled-up newspaper from the floor. Quickly, she exchanged the bag of chips for the newspaper, tucking it under his arm. She walked back toward her seat beside Stiles, grinning triumphantly. They each popped a chip into their mouths, enjoying the taste.

Stiles knew it was wrong, but he didn't care, letting his appetite win him over. Hopefully, the guy would think he already ate the bag and threw it away.

One by one, the chips disappeared and the bag was empty. Stiles pulled out his phone from his jacket pocket, hoping to see any notifications that he'd received a new message.

Nothing.

Sighing, he pressed the familiar speed dial button with his thumb, placing it against his ear, hoping to receive an answer.

The voicemail responded instead.

"Malia, why aren't you answering your phone? Call me . . . please." He hung up, slipping it back into his jacket.

"Who's Malia?" the girl asked.

"My girlfriend."

"You . . . you guys have some kind of fight?"

Stiles sighed heavily, letting out a slow exhale as he wiped a hand down his face. "No, I'm . . ." he trailed off, then started up again. "I'm angry at myself because I let her go there."

She gave him a puzzled look. "Go where?"

"Beacon Hills."

"You worried that she's hooking up with someone else?"

He shook his head. He knew that wasn't it and that it wasn't the case. At least, he hoped. "No, that's not what I'm worried about."

"Well, hey, don't sweat it. If we both get kicked to the curb, we meet on the next bus out," she said. She caught herself for a moment before deciding to rush on with her next words. "Does your Uncle really know you're coming? Did you at least give him a heads up?"

Damn. Maybe he wasn't as good as he thought he was. "Why?" Stiles exclaimed in frustration. "So he could slam the door shut before he even opens it?"

"I just . . . he might want some . . ."

"Look, don't worry about me, okay?"

The strawberry-blonde gave him a look. "I have other places to go. Just worry about Malia." Then she groaned and put her head in her hands. "Look, I'm sorry. I was just asking about your Uncle because . . . I've been there. You crash into somebody's life like a cannonball, and there might be an explosion. I've got an Uncle, too, who turned out to be my father."

"Are you living with him now?"

She hesitated. " . . . No.," she admitted. "You know, and if that's what you're expecting, don't. Okay, get the picket fence and the bedroom with your own door out of your head."

"I'd settle for someone who wouldn't toss my laptop into a steaming bathtub."

"Were you in it?"

"No. Not that he would've noticed. He was the kind who opened a bottle of vodka and threw away the cap," he explained. His dad had been an alcoholic after his mom died. He had never been the same since. But then something had happened and his dad was back to normal, Stiles thought. "Well, then this was a good call. Maybe things'll work out. At least you know where you're going."

"Yeah. Back to Scranton. Rather deal with the devil I know." The girl stood up as the bus stuttered to a stop. Stiles got up and handed her her bag.

"Hey. Are you sure you wanna do this? I mean, you are closer to Beacon Hills . . ."

"Look, I gotta go. But have a nice life," she said quickly. She started to turn, but then glanced back again, shouldering her bag. "Um, what's your name?"

"Stiles."

"Lydia," she told him, giving him a small smile. "Bye."

Stiles watched her turn to leave as he sat back down, then saw her freeze upon seeing the creepy man from row 26 staring at her at the bus' door. They stared at each other, keeping uncomfortable eye contact until the man finally left.

Lydia stood there for a moment before spinning around. "On second thought," she murmured as she took her seat by Stiles once more.

 **_oOo_**

"I've heard of whistling past the graveyard, but I didn't know you could bring a band," Lydia chuckled at this, turning her head to look at Stiles as they paused in front of the open gate to Beacon Hills Cemetery.

They had arrived in Beacon Hills only moments ago, it seemed, the bus stopping directly in front of the cemetery. Hell of a great bus stop, Lydia had thought to herself, glancing at the eerie sight in front of them. A chill seemed to roll through the air, brushing against Lydia's skin, making her shiver and hug her jacket closer to her body. She was sort of envious that Stiles was wearing a warmer jacket - a red hoodie.

An angel statue stood in the center, past the gate, dead leaves scattering about. Headstones and mausoleums were gracing the background of the angel statue, dark and weathered and quiet.

Lydia turned to Stiles, both of them sharing a knowing smile. The cemetery creeped him out, too, she guessed. "Go ahead, find your girlfriend. I'll be okay. You know, if you want, I can walk you to your uncle's house," Lydia told him. "The driver said that it was down that street."

"No, I can find it myself," Stiles insisted, gesturing behind him.

"You're late," she reminded him about Malia.

"To tell you the truth, I'd rather face him alone," Stiles said softly after a moment. He glanced into the cemetery before meeting her gaze. "How I'm used to doing things."

Lydia hesitated. It would seem wrong to let him go off alone like this, but why should she care? Stiles wasn't her boyfriend. He was literally a stranger she'd just met on the bus hours earlier. A stranger with whom she shared some deep stuff with. "Yeah, well, you have my number, so . . ."

"You've got mine."

"Let me know what happens."

"Yeah. Promise."

Lydia, for some reason, decided to reach out and touch Stiles' forehead with her index finger before lowering it, returning it back to her side.

Stiles gave her a bewildered look. "What was that?"

"Keeps evil spirits away," she explained.

Stiles nodded as if he knew what she was talking about. "Never heard that one."

"I just made it up," Lydia confessed, laughing.

Stiles chuckled. "See you 'round the bus stop."

"Right." Stiles shifted before nodding to her, before walking through the gate in search of his girlfriend. There was a local Founders Day Celebration party being held in the cemetery, where Malia said to meet her at.

Sighing, Lydia turns and began to walk down the sidewalk, whistling as she past the long fence. Minutes seem to fly by and she spotted a dusty mansion almost hiding in the shadows.

Without thinking, she let her feet drag her to the front door, surprise to find it unlocked. Hesitating, she slowly pushed it open, poking her head in. "Hello?" she called out. Maybe this was Stiles' Uncle's place.

She pushed herself in, shutting the door gently behind her, taking in the sights of everything all around her. Old antique photos lined the mantle beside her: a man and a woman standing beside each other, two children standing side by side presumingly siblings, a group of people sitting outside a Victorian-style porch, possibly from this same mansion. A mother sitting in a wicker chair, facing her two small children. All of them were donned in Nineteenth-Century attire. It was pretty fascinating.

As she explored further into the mansion, Lydia thought she could hear the faint cries of a woman and the sound of pounding. Curious, she followed it several more hallways twists and turns, leading directly to a room, which held a old-fashioned phone booth.

It was poorly-lit, Lydia realized, but she could still a silhouette of a girl in there. Maybe she was stuck. Lydia twisted the handle and pulled the flimsy door open. "Hello."

The girl in front of her looked shocked for a second before hesitating a reply. "Hi."

Lydia took notice of the girl's dress, seeing the detail and the beauty of it, the girl's short brown hair piled in ringlets on top of her head. Lydia nodded her head in approval and pursed her lips, wondering why the girl had been in the phone booth in the first place. Had she been wanting to make a call and had gotten herself locked in? That was the only logical explanation Lydia could think of.

That, or someone else had pushed her in and locked the door.

Lydia watched as the girl stepped out of the booth and began immediately strutting down the hallway in a frantic manner. She hurried up to catch up with the girl, determined not to get herself lost. And if she did, at least she'd have company.

"You live here?"

"Well, my friend's uncle does," Lydia said. "Or at least, I think he does."

"Who else lives in this house?" the girl continued as if she hadn't heard her.

"How should I know?" Lydia quipped back. The antique lights rimmed the hallway they were in, photos lining the walls underneath them.

"Well, there were people running in the hall. You must have seen them."

Lydia knew she hadn't ran into anybody else in the entire time she was in here. "The only person I've met in this house is you. And you are?"

"Why should I tell you?"

Lydia turned her head to stare at the girl in disbelief, stepping in front of her, crossing her arms over her chest. "Because I'm the one who let you out of the phone booth."

"How do I know you're not the one who locked me in the phone booth? You could be from here, maybe you're trying to kill me."

"If I was going to kill you, I'd use something better than a phone booth," Lydia retorted. And she could. She had read enough books and watched enough movies to know which part of a vein would bleed the most when punctured, how long she'd have to apply pressure to a certain point to cause pain and hell, even for fun, which one of her heels could do the most damage.

"My name's Malia," the girl finally answered.

"Malia. I'm Lydia." So this was Stiles' girlfriend. No doubt Stiles was probably wondering where she was right now.

"Okay," Malia exhaled deeply. "You do know how to get out of here, don't you? I mean, you got in, you came through a door."

Lydia looked apologetic. "I got a little lost," she admitted as they rounded a corner. "Can't we just get out the way you came in?"

"Not a good idea," Malia said, shaking her head.

"Well, I came this way," Lydia guessed, motioning her hand in front of her. "I think. You always dress like prom night on the Titanic?"

Malia pushed open a set of double doors, then stopped short, staring at whatever was in front of her. Lydia peered over her shoulder and saw that the room was filled was caskets. "What kind of business did you say your friend's Uncle was in?"

"I didn't."

Malia stepped inside with Lydia following behind, inspecting the open caskets. She watched as the girl picked up a card from the inside of one, reading it aloud. "Roden, O'Brien, and Hale."

"That's my friend's uncle," Lydia cut in. She wasn't exactly sure how she knew, but just went along with what her gut was trying to tell her, rolling along with it. "The last one, Hale."

She didn't know that Malia had turned to leave, her feet slowly dragging her across the room, to the two closed caskets in front of her.

"Come on. Lydia, come on. No window shopping." Malia's voice sounded distorted and off. Then, a memory plunged into her head.

 _She saw herself as a little girl, wearing a pair of ruby slippers on her feet. A man approached her from behind, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. She looked up toward him, seeing a pair of dark green eyes underneath bushy eyebrows._

" _Don't try to understand, Lydia. Not now. Just know, you'll be safe. That's what your grandmother wanted. And, please, forgive me."_

The memory cleared from her eyes and Lydia realized that she was crying, a hand on one of the closed caskets. She heard footsteps behind her and felt Malia's hand touch her gently.

"Hey. Are you okay?" Malia looked genuinely confused and worried.

"Yeah, I think so," she lied, furiously blinking away tears, holding her arms against herself. " I told people I wasn't at my grandmother's funeral because I didn't want to talk about it. I guess I said it so often, I started believing it myself." Lydia sniffed, absolutely embarrassed that she was opening open to a complete stranger. "But . . . I was there. And I remember a man. I think he was my friend's uncle. But if he was there, then why did he leave him?"

Malia shook her head, watching her warily. "I don't know. I'll tell you what, when we get out of here, and we find him, I'll hold him down while you ask him. And you and your friend can beat him up. Deal?"

Lydia smiled, wiping her tears away, a small laugh escaping her. "Yeah."

Malia patted her shoulder comfortably, then turned to lead them both out of the room. While leaving, Lydia noticed a pamphlet, eyes scanning it before tucking it into the inside of her jacket, hurrying to catch up with Malia. Finally, the two found the entrance and headed toward the cemetery, both of them hoping that Stiles would find them there.

And he did.

Lydia turned at the sound of footsteps approaching her and saw him. "Lydia."

She breathed out a sigh of relief, smiling gratefully toward him. "For a guy who's looking for somebody, you're not easy to find."

Stiles frowned. "I didn't know I needed to be. You okay?"

"Um, we can talk about me after. But right now I think your girl needs a hug." Lydia looked in the direction where Malia was standing, Stiles following her eyes.

He immediately went to her, both of them desperate to touch each other.

"I've been trying to call you," Stiles murmured, wrapping his arms around her. "Malia, is everything okay? What's going on?"

Malia explained the situation to Stiles. Apparently, she'd been exploring the cemetery and had come across a mausoleum, which contained a secret passageway. She had been excited, only to find that she had gotten locked inside and had somehow ended up in the mansion after wandering aimlessly when finding another door. Malia had led them back to the place, hoping to show them what she found.

"Okay, I know it doesn't look like it, but this is a door," Malia started. She began pushing on the statue bolted to the wall, struggling to move it. She noticed Stiles watching her and inclined her head to the statue. "Why am I doing this alone?"

Stiles rushed to help his girlfriend while Lydia began to survey the walls.

"Are you sure we're in the right place?" Stiles huffed as he pushed on the statue harder, but it still wouldn't budge.

"Yes!" Malia snapped back in frustration. After a few more minutes of pushing, they both gave up.

Lydia moved aside a vine, peering at the golden letters engraved in the stone wall in the moonlight, hoping, praying it was a mistake. After all, her name had be a common name, right?

"Lydia? Are you okay?" Malia asked,

Lydia looked toward her, at a loss for words, then turned her attention back to her name on the wall. She moved aside the vine above it, revealing a dusted, faded old black-and-white picture in an oval frame. She was looking at herself, but frozen forever in the Nineteenth Century.

Lydia stared. "That's me."

Once they had gotten outside, Lydia pulled out the pamphlet she'd taken from the mansion, showing it to Stiles, while Malia chatted on her phone, waiting for a response.

"I found this in your uncle's house," she explained.

He gave her a perplexed look as he read the paper. "There has to be some sort of explanation," he told her. "Like a brother, or something . . ."

"It said I had no other living relatives." Lydia was confused. Here it was, this man on the front cover, embolden in death as his picture stared back at them.

"So, my dad's coming to pick us up," Malia called to them as she stepped carefully over the headstones in the ground, picking up the folds of her dress, heading in their direction.

"Guys, I think I'll peel off here," Lydia announced, trailing behind Stiles and Malia as the three of them headed toward the cemetery entrance.

"No!" Malia said stubbornly."You don't have to stay here, you can come with us."

Lydia cocked an perfectly tweezed eyebrow. "You're allowed to bring home strays?"

"I've done it before." Malia shared a glance with Stiles, a warm smile spreading across her face before turning back to Lydia.

Lydia studied them before replying, "Thanks for the offer, but I can take care of myself. Been doing it for a long time."

"Stiles, help me out here," Malia pleaded, nudging Stiles' shoulder. "You can't let her go back in that house."

Lydia sighed, flipping her hair as Stiles stepped forward, a serious look on his face.

"Look, I know how it feels to want answers. And I hope you find the ones you're looking for."

"Come on, guys. Get out of here already."

Malia, realizing that Lydia wasn't going to change her mind, went and hugged the strawberry-blonde girl. If Lydia hadn't found her back in that mansion, she would still probably be stuck in there. "It's an open invitation," Malia told her when she pulled away. "You can always come to Beacon County."

"Thank you," Lydia replied. "Bye." She gave a small wave to them before they turned and walked away in the opposite direction.

"God, I really don't think we should let her stay here," Malia said, turning around to face Stiles.

"You heard her. It's not about wanting answers, it's about needing them."

Malia looked at her boyfriend with love in her eyes, stepping forward and giving him a passionate kiss.

"What was that for?"

The brown-haired girl shrugged her shoulders. "For being the kind of guy I can ask to stay here and take care of a girl that pretty."

Stiles looked past Malia's shoulder to see Lydia's retreating figure. "Are you sure?"

She smiled sadly. "Yeah. Help her. Then find me when you get home."

"I love you, Malia Tate."

He placed a kiss on her forehead, watching her as she climbed into her dad's car.

He found Lydia staring down at a grave, turning her head to look at him as he neared closer, looking partially confused.

"You're not leaving, are you?"

Stiles grinned at her. "Not tonight."

 **_oOo_**

"Have you noticed how many kids are buried in this cemetery?" Stiles asked aloud. Whether it was to himself or to her, Lydia didn't know.

And yes, she had noticed. It was very disturbing. Was there some kind of teenager death plague going around this town?

It just so happened, in that moment, she chose to look down, her green eyes landing on a headstone. "Stiles?" she began carefully. "What's your last name?"

"Stilinski. Why?"

That's when Stiles looked down. That's when he thought his heart was going to stop, then jump out of his chest. His eyes widened. He went and stepped closer, bending down to get a good luck at the headstone in front of him. His name **Stiles Stilinski, Beloved Son** was engraved in golden block letters on it. There was a slide covering the picture frame above it. Slowly and hesitatingly, he reached a hand out, opening the slide to reveal the faded old-fashioned picture underneath it.

It was him, his hair slicked back, dressed in a black suit with a tie hanging around his neck,

Just like Lydia's.

Forever frozen in the Nineteenth Century.

It was official, Stiles and Lydia decided. They were going to stay in Beacon Hills.

They needed answers.


	2. Chapter 1 - Part 1

**Chapter One**

 **Part I**

 _My name is Stiles Stilinski._

 _Last night I got on a bus to Beacon Hills, thinking I was going to help my girlfriend, Malia. She's the one who asked me to stay and take care of Lydia._

 _I just met Lydia earlier that night, but we had an immediate connection. I came to Beacon Hills to find my only living relative beside my father, an uncle who shipped me off to live with strangers before I could even memorize his face. Malia and I hardly knew this girl, but neither one of us wanted to leave her alone in a town where people threw parties in cemeteries._

 _I'm not scared easily, not when I need answers about a family I've never known. Last night, I found a tombstone in that cemetery with my name and face on it._

 _And there's a dead Lydia buried there, too._

 _There's no way either one of us is getting out of this town until we found out why._

Lydia's fingers scrolled through the small screen on her phone, squinting down at the text on it, before sighing and giving up, placing her phone back into her bag. "Beacon Hills has to be the only town in the country without a website," she said, rolling her eyes. She bit her lip, staring down at Stiles' gravestone. She glanced up and saw that dawn was approaching.

Just minutes ago, it seemed like it was night. They must've gotten here later than they thought they would've. The clock on her phone had said it was at least 7. Then, a thought came to her, remembering the pamphlet with her supposed deceased "relative".

"You know what?" she began, shooting Stiles a look. "It's probably just a coincidence. I bet you have relatives here or something like that."

"Yeah, 'cause I'm sure that happens _all_ the time," Stiles retorted. "Seeing your name and your face on a gravestone. Lydia, I'm not saying it happens all the time, but it happened. There's an explanation, and we'll find it."

Lydia snorted and gave him a knowing look. "You sound like the guy in the horror movies, the one who's all logical and scientific. He usually doesn't make it to the end credits," she told him, then turned and began walking back down to the entrance.

"Where are you going?" Stiles asked as he jogged after her.

"To your uncle's house. Maybe he's back now," Lydia explained. "So, how'd you find out you had an uncle, anyway?"

"I got a letter from some lawyer about my mom. At the bottom, it said a copy was sent to my mom's brother, a Mr. Derek Hale, Sawmill Road, Beacon Hills. My dad wanted me to get to know him. Instant family." Stiles mimicked an explosion with his fingers, causing Lydia to giggle. Stiles smiled, then rushed on to finish. "I went from excited to ticked-off in about ten seconds."

"I know the feeling," she replied.

"You do?"

"Yeah. Like I told you on the bus, I know what it means to be a pinball foster kid. Hey, Stiles. This is it. Your uncle's house." She glanced up at the mansion, seeing it for the first time without shadows. Lydia had to admit, the mansion was pretty impressive. A sign was in front of the building:

 **Roden, O'Brien, and Hale**

 **Funeral Directors**

 **Beacon Hills, CA.**

"One hell of a bed-and-breakfast," Stiles commented aloud after seeing the sign, looking up at the mansion in awe.

They turned to the sound of a car coming up the street. It was a black hearse with a single person in front driving, a man.

Lydia stared. Out of all the things Stiles' uncle had to be, he just had to go and be a funeral director. "Is that him?" she asked, nudging Stiles' shoulder to get his attention, cocking her head curiously. The man turned and pulled into the driveway of the mansion, getting out and opening the back of the hearse.

"I don't know," Stiles murmured. He shook his head uncertainly. "I haven't seen him since I was three years old."

Lydia started to say that she thought he'd never seen him before. Now she wasn't sure. Instead, she settled on saying, "Maybe he knows about our lookalikes buried out there in the cemetery."

"Yeah." Stiles took a deep breath, steeling his nerves together before walking over to the man in the driveway after moving around the fence surrounding the mansion. "Mr. Hale?"

The man turned. He was tall and pale. Dark green eyes under a pair of heavy, bushy eyebrows, completed with a trimmed beard. Stiles noticed that his mouth immediately turned into a scowl upon seeing them. Annoyance was heard on his voice when he spoke for the first time. "You are?"

Stiles politely smiled. "Don't you remember me? I'm Stiles. Your nephew?"

The reaction wasn't what he was hoping for. Even more so, Derek Hale frowned harder, glaring at him. "What are you doing here?" he snapped.

Stiles swallowed. "I think you're supposed to start off with 'hello.'"

This really wasn't how he imagined this whole conversation would go.

"I'm very busy." Derek Hale shot him another glare as then he turned around and began pulling out a stretcher with a black body bag on top of it.

"You know, I didn't get to introduce myself," Lydia interrupted as she moved to the side to avoid the stretcher. "I'm Lydia Martin."

The man scanned her over with his eyes disapprovingly, pausing in his steps. "Am I supposed to be related to you, as well?"

Lydia couldn't believe what she was hearing. She put herself in front of Stiles, keeping eye contact with his uncle as she stepped forward. "Stiles wanted to surprise you, maybe this wasn't the best way to do it. Maybe he should've called first." Lydia pursed her lips together and sucked on a long hiss. "You know what, the point is he's here. It's been a long night. I'm sure whoever's in this _bag_ wouldn't mind _you_ spending a little time with your nephew."

Derek Hale stared at her for a long second. She felt uneasy, watching as he seemed to study her. "Did you say your name is Martin?"

"That's right. Lydia Martin. Maybe you recognize it from the headstone in the cemetery, the one with the girl that looks just like me."

Derek Hale's face changed into something unreadable, glancing at both teenagers. "I know every tombstone out there. There's no Lydia Martin." He turned, facing the porch to where a woman stood. "Marin, please show my nephew where he can rest."

Stiles turned to see the young woman staring at him. "Come inside, please."

He looked toward Lydia, who nodded in encouragement. Then, he disappeared inside the mansion, leaving Lydia all alone with creepy Uncle Derek Hale.

"Make yourself useful," he told her, shutting the back door of the hearse, gripping one end of the stretcher.

 **_oOo_**

"Does he treat everyone like that, or does he just save it for his family?" Stiles asked the woman beside him as she led them both inside.

"He has no family left," she calmly replied as they headed up a grand staircase.

"I'm his family. Maybe I'm just a crummy nephew, but I'm family."

"Then you're all he has," she said, glancing at Stiles. He looked away shyly and began to look at his surroundings.

"How long have you worked here?"

"Oh, a very long time," she told him. She gave a slight chuckle, seeing his expression of doubt as they rounded the corner and came to another flight of stairs. "I know. I don't look like it. But there was a brief period where I worked at a college nearby."

"You came back?" Stiles asked curiously.

"Mm-hmm."

"Why?"

"Mr. Hale asked me to. By that time, I was ready. College girls can be very unstructured."

Stiles lingered after her, unsure what to say about that before hurrying to catch up.

 **_oOo_**

Lydia looked around in the room she was currently in, eyes wandering over strange equipment she couldn't identify. It didn't bother her at all that much that a dead body was currently in front of her. Then again, it hadn't been uncovered yet. She'd probably change her mind once it was.

"If you have any influence with my nephew, I suggest you use it to get him to leave. It's better for everyone."

"Obviously better for you," Lydia retorted, watching as Derek Hale washed his hands before rinsing the water off with a towel.

"Don't think this is about me, Ms. Martin," he said, pulling on blue protective gear over his body. I promise you, you'd be wrong." He began setting down small bottles down on the tray with his surgical equipment beside the body bag in front of him.

"Stiles found his name, too," Lydia began, cocking her head to get a glimpse of his reaction. He only paused to look at her before he resumed what he was doing. "And his picture on a headstone, which made me double curious. Made me want to dig in there and really find out what's going on. I can be very annoying when I get like that."

Derek Hale only shot her a look while he pulled on a mask covering his nose and mouth before unzipping the body bag, revealing a very, very, decomposed arm and hand underneath. Lydia gagged, bile rising in her throat, then forced herself to remain calm like nothing disturbed her. She watched as the hand suddenly jerked to life before it went still. She stumbled back in surprise and shock.

"He just moved," she stammered, pointing.

"Spinal cord, Ms. Martin," Derek Hale explained, giving her a disdainful look. "It works even after the brain stops."

"Um, where did that lady take Stiles?"

"Ms. Morrell probably took her upstairs. The house is through that door."

Lydia quickly shouldered her bag and left, desperate to get away from Stiles' creepy uncle - but mostly, away from the dead body.

 **_oOo_**

Stiles had been absentmindedly been reading a random book, waiting for Lydia to return, when all of a sudden, the room began to rumble. Startled, he dropped the book, bracing himself back against the headboard of the bed he was sitting on.

It reminded him of a train passing by. Then the rumbling stopped and he saw Lydia walk in.

She paused. "What?"

"Did you hear that?"

She frowned. "Hear what?"

Stiles let out a deep exhale, brushing it aside. Maybe it was just his imagination. "Uh, nothing," he lied. "Nothing. Never mind. Um, did you talk to my uncle?"

Lydia rolled her eyes and plopped her bag onto Stiles' bed. "Yeah. You get all your charm from your father's side of the family. Hey, so what happened to you out there? You kind of choked when you met him."

Stiles looked his best to not to look hurt by that. "I didn't choke," he insisted.

"Dude, you choked," Lydia said. She took off her jacket and began adjusting her sleeves before putting it back on again.

"Okay, what is this, my employee review?" he shot back sarcastically.

Lydia smiled and went over to the window, glancing out from behind the white lace curtain.

"How's the scenery?" he asked.

"Different," she answered. Stiles went to her, confused and saw what she was talking about.

They saw a woman scrubbing a headstone with a teenage boy standing by her.

"Why would she be cleaning a headstone?" Stiles asked aloud.

 **_oOo_**

"Mom, please, let me do it," Scott McCall pleaded. "Or let me tell someone. You shouldn't be doing this yourself." When Melissa McCall didn't respond, he raised his voice. "Mom!"

"Hand me the other brush," was all his mother said, turning around as she reached for it. Scott glanced over and saw that his brother, Isaac, had arrived on his bike.

"Why are you letting her do this?" Isaac asked.

"She won't let me tell anyone," Scott told him.

"Well, I already did," Isaac said, leaning on his handlebars. "The cops need to know about this, Mom."

"Because they've been so helpful to us," Melissa snapped.

Isaac sighed, sharing a look with Scott. "Mom, come on."

"They know what the people in this town think of me, and they think it themselves." Melissa gave up scrubbing the headstone, throwing the wet rag to the ground as she walked away.

"What did you tell them?"

"Nothing. They wouldn't talk."

"Mom!" Scott called. Then he bent down and grabbed the rag. "If you want to help, grab a brush."

Isaac stared at him. "They're just gonna do it again."

"Then we'll clean it again."

"It's not gonna change anything. People will still say she did it."

"It doesn't matter what they say, Isaac. It isn't true."

"The cops don't know that, Scott," he reminded him. "All they know is that somebody killed _my_ dad, and there's no one else on the radar but Mom."

Scott sighed and turned to face his brother. "Fine. You win. You know what, I'm gonna live my life. And Mom should, too, because hiding in her room is obviously not helping her cause."

Isaac sighed and looked to see two teenagers staring out of the window of the Hale mansion. He got Scott's attention and he turned and saw them, crossing his arms over his chest.

Lydia hesitated, then decided that she was going to walk across the cemetery to see what was going on.

"Hey, if you're leaving, I'm coming with you," Stiles murmured after all, grabbing his own jacket.

They walked across the cemetery, passing a couple of mausoleums until they were sure they were at the place they'd seen the two boys.

"Where'd they go?" Stiles asked, looking around.

"I don't know," Lydia replied. She glanced around, hoping to find a sign of them, but no such luck. Stopping in front of the headstone that the woman had been frantically scrubbing, they saw that it was covered and defaced in red paint, which read:

 **KILLER**

Underneath it, the name of the deceased showed through it, revealing a name: _John Wesley Lahey._

"What the hell is going on? Who are those kids? Who's a killer?" Stiles wondered. He glanced toward Lydia, hoping that she would have something but instead, she only shook her head in confusion.

Lydia started forward, walking past the headstone, pulling her phone out of her pocket. "Come on. Let's take pictures of our tombstones. We'll show your uncle. He can't deny what he sees in a photograph."

Lydia counted five rows and twelve stones, an easy way to remember where Stiles' headstone was. She had a feeling that they were gonna need to see it again.

"What is this? Carl Ridgley?" She looked around again, searching for clues that she - they - were in the right spots. They were. The statue of a girl had been in front of them . . .

But Stiles' headstone wasn't there. She flipped open the picture frame above to find another face staring back at them - someone who definitely wasn't Stiles.

"Is this the right place?" Stiles looked around.

"Yes, it is the right place," she demanded. Lydia blinked to make sure that her eyes weren't playing any tricks on her. "I counted all the rows and the stones last night."

"Are you saying we didn't see what we saw last night?" Stiles asked incredulously. "Because I know what we saw."

"No, Stiles, we saw it, it's just not here now." Lydia stood up, facing the boy, who scratched the back of his neck.

"So, somebody switched headstones? Who would do that?" Stiles spluttered, hoping for a reasonable explanation. "Why?"

"The only person I told about this was your uncle," Lydia remembered, recalling the discussion they had had during the dead body. She cursed herself. She started to walk away when Stiles stopped her.

"Hey, where are you going?"

"You can only learn so much in a graveyard," Lydia spread her arms out in indication, walking backward. "I'm going into town. There has to be a newspaper or a library where I can look up obituaries. Are you okay if I go?"

"If you're okay with me taking another run at . I came here for answers," Stiles spoke as Lydia stopped walking. "I'm not leaving until I get something from him."

Lydia gave Stiles a smile before they both turned and walked opposite directions.

 **_oOo_**

Lydia was so glad she was wearing her comfortable flats. Her feet would've been killing her if she had worn heels. Within probably a long ten minutes, she had reached town and grabbed a map and a newspaper. She spied what she was looking for and headed in that direction. As she rounded the corner of a street, she glanced up at the building.

 _ **Beacon Hills Gazette**_ , the sign above the door read. She paused for a moment before walking in.

"They'll close Central Avenue for the parade at 6:00," a pretty girl spoke into her phone as she collected menus. Lydia could see that she had fair skin, dark brown short hair that curled to her shoulders and red fingernail polish. She scribbled something on a clipboard as Lydia approached her. She mentioned a finger to wait a moment as she continued speaking to whoever was on the opposite line. "It's, uh, the only time that Officer Hayes ever gets to write tickets, so, um, park at the school and then walk over. By the way, I need my physics book back by Monday. I'll see you tonight, then."

She hung up and smiled warmly at Lydia.

"Hey. So, are you guys actually "the source since 1862"?" Lydia asked, pointing to a spot on the newspaper she held in her hand.

"Not me personally, but the paper's been here that long," the girl said, cracking a small smile. Lydia immediately decided she was going to like this girl and she had no idea why.

"Well, um, I need to talk to somebody about an obituary."

The girl gave her a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry to hear that."

Lydia, upon realizing what she had just said, quickly corrected herself. "No, not a new one. It's actually from a long time ago. Relative."

"What's the name?"

"Lydia Martin."

"That's your name or the relative's?"

Lydia thought for a moment. "Both."

"You know when she died?"

"It'd have to be 100 years ago."

"Well," the girl began as Lydia watched as a man came up behind her. "We have copies of all the editions since the Civil War downstairs. You can take a look if you'd like."

The man laid a hand on the girl's shoulder, causing her to turn and look. "Are you finished with those classified ads?"

"Almost, Dad."

Apparently that wasn't the answer he wanted to hear. "Almost? Why don't I help the young woman."

"So, can I go down and find the old papers and find my relative?" Lydia asked eagerly, hoping to find out more about this other "Lydia Martin" that looked so much like her.

"I'm afraid I can't let you down in the morgue alone," the man cut in.

Lydia froze. "The morgue?"

"That's where we keep all the old editions," the girl immediately said nonchalantly, perking up. Her dad shot her a look before she looked away awkwardly, realizing what she'd done and walked away, presumingly to finish the classified ads.

"It's not like a library down there. I just can't have people browsing around. But if you want, I'll find out more about this relative of yours. I suggest you check the county records over at Driscoll. You come back with a specific date, I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks," she said, sharing a glance and a warm smile with the girl before exiting the building.

 **_oOo_**

Stiles wandered around the mansion, searching for his uncle once he reached the building, heading inside. He finally spotted his uncle in a room standing in front of a casket, placing something inside, pinning something to the deceased man's coat.

"I was looking for you."

"It's a big house," Derek Hale replied, without turning his head. "It's easy to get lost."

Stiles crossed his arms over his chest. "Especially when the person you're looking for doesn't want to be found. This is what you do for a living?"

"And my father, and his father."

"Did you do it for my mom when she died?"

"No. I was unqualified then. But I did do it for your friend's grandmother. You were too young to remember that."

"I was too young to remember all sorts of things, actually," Stiles mumbled. He tried to remember if he'd gone to Lydia's grandmother's funeral. He supposed he probably had, remembering a flash of strawberry-blonde hair.

"You were at her funeral. I remember that. You were my only living relative, and you left me with strangers. Why did you do that?" Stiles edged forward, stepping closer but his uncle took a step back.

"There was no way I could explain it to you then."

Stiles blinked in disbelief and scoffed. "You've had plenty of time since. You could've called me. You could've written a letter. You could've sent a Christmas card."

"I thought that was best," Derek interrupted.

Stiles pursed his lips and nodded. "Well, you were wrong."

"I realized that when I saw you this morning. But the damage is done. You should go back to your father."

"I would go back if I could, and I can't." Stiles rushed on, anger surging through him as he rambled on. "You know what, I was afraid of you this morning outside, and I was so afraid that I had forgotten how angry I am, but I'm better now, and we have a lot of catching up to do."

"I don't think that would do either one of us much good." Derek Hale turned back around to face the deceased lying in the casket behind him.

"Hey, I'm over here," Stiles' voice rose. "Your actual live nephew, remember? Now, I'm not going anywhere until you answer some questions about me, about my mom, about what happened to her."

"Mr. Hale," Ms. Morrell's voice came from behind. Stiles whirled around. "The Shuberts are here."

"Excuse me." He watched as his uncle adjusted his suit and walked out of the room, with Stiles hurrying to catch up with him.

"Hey," he called. _We're not done here!_ Ms. Morrell reached out and stopped him.

"Be patient with him," she said. "You brought questions, but you also brought memories."

"What do I have to do to get his attention, crawl in one of those boxes?" Stiles snapped and wrenched his arm away, angrily stalking back to his room.

 **_oOo_**

"Two-fisted coffee drinker," the girl from earlier smiled toward Lydia. "That's serious."

"Uh, one's for my friend."

The girl nodded and Lydia was about to walk away when the girl stopped her. "Um, is this your relative?" Lydia spun around as the girl held out her phone. Lydia saw her picture from the gravestone. "I haven't found the obituary, but does this help? She looks just like you."

Lydia only stared, speechless.

 **_oOo_**

"So, what time are we meeting tonight?" Kira Yukimura asked Isaac, walking along the town's square.

"I'm not even sure I'm going." Isaac mumbled, tucking his hands in his jeans. He glanced toward his brother's girlfriend, a pretty Asian girl with long curls that went to her shoulders, katana hung over her shoulder in its protective sheath.

"Does Ally know that? What, is Scott not going, either?"

"I have no idea. Ask him yourself."

"Isaac, are you not going tonight because of your dad? I know it won't be the same, but the police are gonna figure this out, and in the meantime you can't hide -" she trailed off, seeing his expression.

"I'm not my mom. I'm not hiding, Kira," Isaac said.

"Okay, you're half hiding, like your brother," Kira replied.

"I'm not my brother," Isaac insisted.

Kira stopped him. "In two months, Scott went from Mr. Popular to Lone-Wolf-Hermit Boy. Not that I don't mind, but people are literally scared of him."

"He's more scared than they are."

"I get it, but how does that help? If you keep thinking there are monsters under your bed, you're never gonna get out of it. Might as well be dead. I can't believe I just said that. Please smack me."

Rock music blared out of a upcoming car that slowed to a stop next to them. It was an black Impala with its top down.

Theo Raeken patted the black leather seats happily as he grinned at them. "What do you guys think? It's your girl's parade car."

"It's okay," Kira answered.

"Okay?" Theo scoffed, placing a hand over his heart like she had wounded him.

"She's beautiful, Theo," Isaac replied. It was a pretty sweet car.

"Well," Theo said as he hopped over the passenger's side. "Ahh. Why don't you try her on for size?"

Isaac blinked. "No, thanks."

Theo shrugged his shoulders. "Your loss. Kira?"

"Nah. Save it for Allison." Kira glanced down at her phone and grimaced. "My dad wants me home. I gotta go, I'll see you tonight. And you, practice driving nice and slow. I don't want my best friend getting bugs in her teeth.

Theo grinned mockingly. "Anything you say."

 **_oOo_**

"You know, I'm telling you some pretty weird stuff, and you're acting like I'm giving the weather report," Lydia finished as she sipped her coffee, sitting across from the girl at a table. "Why is that?"

The girl sighed and shrugged. "We have a different kind of ordinary in this town," she began.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

A curly-haired blonde boy passed their table and made eye contact with the girl as she awkwardly took a gulp of milk. She remained eye contact with the boy until he brushed past her. Lydia wondered who he was.

"When I was 11, I went to sleepaway camp. And one night, all of us kids were sitting around the campfire telling ghost stories. One kid talked about a haunted house in Beacon Hills. And the next kid talked about a ghost in the Beacon Hills movie theater. And then I finally said, _"Hey, I live in Beacon Hills. That's my town,"_ and they all got really quiet. That was the first time I realized that people look at this place differently."

"All that stuff doesn't just come out of nowhere," Lydia told her. "Something had to have happened."

The girl's face fell. She didn't speak for a moment. Finally she said, "See the mark on the wall?"

Lydia looked to the spot where the girl was pointing behind her. She saw a dark line almost reaching to the top of the ceiling.

"That's the level the floodwaters reached in 1896," the girl continued. "The reservoir burst, and a couple of billion gallons of water came through the middle of town like a freight train. They were pulling bodies out of trees for six months. People said this town would just go away, but it didn't. They rebuilt, and it's beautiful, and I love it here. But -"

"But there's so much death. It's like the town's soaked in it."

"It's a part of who we are," the girl finished for her simply.

"Hey, Isaac." A male voice caught the girls' attention. They turned to see the boy from moments earlier being harassed by another boy his age. "Where's your brother?"

"Shut up, Whittemore."

"What happens if your girl loses tonight? Think she'll go after the judges with a knife like your mom? You know what they say. Like mother, like daughter."

Isaac slowly turned toward the boy, then suddenly grabbed him by the shoulders, violently shoving him back. The boy stumbled back against the wall the girls were near. The boy started to charge at Isaac, when Lydia decided to stick her foot out, causing the boy to trip.

"Have a problem here?" a man asked, pulling Isaac away from the boy.

"No, we're good," Whittemore lied.

"Mm."

The boy called Whittemore turned, seeing Lydia and raised a finger threateningly. "I'm gonna remember you," he hissed before colliding hard with her shoulder purposely as he left.

"It's like this town invented hospitality," Lydia grimaced, rubbing her shoulder.

"Isaac," the man who had broke up the fight said. Isaac turned. "Hey, I know it's hard, but you can get through this."

"I'm not the one with the problem," Isaac growled. "It's the rest of this town."

He turned and left, while Lydia watched in amazement as the girl scrambled after him.

"You one of Allison's friends?" the man asked.

Allison. So, that was her name. Lydia was glad she knew it now. "Uh, yeah, friend of the family," she lied.

"Ken Yukimura," the man introduced himself, holding out a hand. She shook it, then they both let go. "I'm one of her teachers."

"Lydia Martin."

 **_oOo_**

"Are you okay?" Allison Argent asked her boyfriend. She brushed her short curly hair behind her ear as both of them walked together in the town's square, side by side.

"I'm great," Isaac breathed out with sarcasm. "My father was murdered, but you know all about that, because according to your dad's newspaper, my mom killed him."

"I'm sorry," Allison sighed. "I know what happened, but you haven't spoken to me in weeks, and I'm just asking how you are. Don't treat me like Jackson Whittemore."

Isaac groaned to himself, then reached out and took a hold of her wrist gently. Allison faced him and he gazed into her dark brown eyes. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"It's not, 'cause I miss talking, you know?"

"Why did you stop?" she whispered. She bit her lip, then decided to change the topic. "Heard your mom's back home."

"Yeah, she got back from Afghanistan a couple days ago."

"That must feel good, having her home," Allison smiled.

Isaac nodded. "It does." Then he stopped, noticing her sadden expression. "You okay?"

Allison scoffed lightly. "I came here to take care of you, not the other way around."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

Isaac and Allison stepped toward each other, embracing each other, their foreheads pressed against the other. "Sorry," Isaac whispered.

"It'll be okay. It's okay," Allison promised, feeling the curls in his hair, her fingers running over them.

"Allison, I thought you were coming back with coffee." They jerked apart to see Allison's dad standing there in full view.

Allison took a step back, lowered her arms immediately. "I got a little busy," she offered.

Allison's dad gave a steely look. "Come on. I'll walk you back."

Allison hesitated before she begrudgingly headed after her father, shooting Isaac a longing look as she went.

 **[To be continued]**

 **awkwxrd: I'm glad you love it! Lots of twists and turns in this story!**

 **Special thanks to:**

 **awkwxrd, MsAwesome,** **and imashuckingwolf0728**


	3. Chapter 1 - Part 2

**Chapter One**

 **Part II**

When Stiles had headed back into his room, he'd found an old album filled with pictures from the past century. Now, here he was, sitting in an old white plush chair, flipping through the pages until one caught his attention.

It was a picture of a town being flooded. Stiles guessed that it was this very same town that he was in. The caption underneath it read: _**The Great Flood**_ _\- here, the first waters are approaching. The river rises steadily, completely swallowing the roads._

Stiles turned the page.

A picture with four people lying under sheets, two white and two black.

He kept turning the page, until something clattered and he looked up, confused. He closed the book, setting it beside him, when something drew his attention in the mirror. He gasped and vaulted out of his seat, whipping the curtain aside to reveal . . . nothing.

But he'd swore that he'd saw someone . . . something that looked human standing behind menacingly. He glanced down and saw a puddle of water in the corner.

That was it. He was going to wait for Lydia to come back. Turns out, he didn't have to wait that long.

"It was wet, not damp, okay?" Stiles said as he showed her the floor, He stopped once he saw that there was no water, no nothing there. Was he losing his mind? "A puddle," he finished.

Lydia stepped in front of him, looking up toward the ceiling, hands on her hips. "Maybe there's a broken pipe or something."

"This is not about a broken pipe," he said.

"Stiles, this house is old." Lydia didn't want to believe him but something screamed that she should.

"I know, it's huge, it has its own weather, but this is not about bad plumbing, Lydia! There was somebody behind those curtains!"

"Maybe it was the wind," Lydia suggested.

"This wind had hands," Stiles confirmed. "You know what, we don't have to do this, okay? There's a bus that leaves tonight."

"Wait," Lydia stammered as she watched Stiles rummage through his bag. "I haven't even heard from my mom."

Stiles shot her a look. "Seriously, even if she told you your family once owned this town, is that gonna make you want to stick around? Not me." He pulled on his jacket.

"Okay, but don't you at least want to know who switched out those graves?" Lydia asked. "If that was your uncle -"

"Don't call him my uncle," Stiles snapped without meaning to. He felt bad about being this way toward her. "He's a stranger, and he clearly wants to stay that way."

"Okay, but _why_? _Why is he lying to you? Why is he lying to me?_ He doesn't even _know_ me. What is he hiding? I want answers."

A knock sounded on the door. They turned to see Ms. Morrell walk in.

"Mr. Hale would like you to join him for dinner."

Lydia could practically see Stiles' brain wheeling as he thought about it. "Uh, sorry, I've got a bus to catch."

"Sounds great," Lydia cut in. She realized that she hadn't had anything to eat since she'd been here. Coffee did not count. She crossed her arms as Stiles gave her a look of disbelief. "I'll wait here."

"If you'd like to wash up, there's a bathroom you can use down the hall. There's a tub."

"Oh, I'm more a shower kind of girl."

Ms. Morrell didn't budge. "We have a tub," she repeated. "It's deep. You won't be disappointed. I'll let your uncle know that you'll be staying. You'll be pleased."

They watched her leave. Stiles turned to Lydia. "This has to be her idea, not his."

"It's just dinner," Lydia reminded him. "Let's play nice. Maybe we'll get some answers."

 **_oOo_**

Back in the McCall household, Scott and Isaac sat across from each other as they ate their dinner, with Melissa nowhere in sight.

"Will you be there? The parade?" Scott asked as he took another bite.

"Gotta study for a chemistry test."

Scott gave him a look. "You have all day tomorrow."

"Assigned tonight." Isaac picked up his untouched plate, before he picked up his mother's empty one, heading toward the kitchen.

"If that's for Mom, don't bother. She's already asleep."

Isaac didn't answer as he continued to pile the empty plate with spaghetti before covering it up with tinfoil and sticking it into the refrigerator.

"It'd be nice if someone from the family could be there tonight. Someone else beside me," Scott said. "I can't believe you're even going. It's -"

"You saw what was on that headstone," Isaac interrupted, slamming the door shut. "You know what this town thinks of Mom, of us."

"It's not the whole town, okay? Kira doesn't think -"

"Kira is not your friend," Isaac's voice rose, then he lowered it, feeling guilty.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"She's not," Isaac said.

"Isaac, I know who my friends are. My girlfriend, especially."

"Really? Okay, then. Maybe it's not Kira. But which one of them is missing a can of red spray paint?"

Scott shook his head, then walked out of the front door, slamming it behind him, leaving Isaac feeling worse about himself even more.

A clock chimed somewhere. Stiles, Lydia, and Derek Hale all sat around a old-fashioned table, quietly sipping their drinks.

Ms. Morrell finally brought Stiles' dish to him, gently setting it down in front of him. "Thanks."

"So," Lydia began. "This town sure likes to party. Big bash in the cemetery one night, parade on the next."

"Do you plan on attending that?" Derek asked, picking up his glass.

Lydia forced a smile. "Sure. Why not? I love a parade."

Ms. Morrell came out next with his uncle's dish. She placed it down and disappeared into the next room.

"Did you explore the town, too?" Derek asked Stiles, taking a bite.

"Did she grow up in this house?"

"Who?"

"My mother. The bedroom that you put me in - was it hers?"

Ms, Morrell drew their attention by an utensil clattering against the tabletop.

Derek stared. "It was," he confirmed finally. "Why?"

"It's just a little . . . suffocating? For a teenager," Stiles went on. "I can see why she may have wanted to run away and get married."

"I think your mother had many reasons for running away. If I'd had her imagination, I might've joined her." Derek Hale stood up, turning to the dresser behind him while retrieving something from the drawer. He held it out to Stiles with both hands. From Lydia's perspective, it looked like a photo album of some sort as Stiles took it from him. "This belonged to your mother."

 **_oOo_**

"Last year, the French club tried to turn Don Rollen's car into a giant chocolate croissant," Allison started. "But it wasn't really well executed, and everyone thought it was a giant exploding diaper."

"Heh," Chris Argent said. "Well, you had a few of those. Ha ha ha! Sorry, did I say that out loud?"

"Oh, come on, I'm still eating here," Victoria Argent told him. "I don't know about you, but mine is getting cold. I'm gonna go reheat.

"No, no, let me," Chris started, rising from his seat, but his wife stopped him with a cold look.

"I remember where the microwave is." They watched as she got up from her seat and headed into the kitchen.

Chris leaned toward his daughter, talking in a lowered voice. "I don't want to do this in front of your mother, but we need to talk about Isaac."

"Wow, am I allowed to say his name now? What do you want me to do, treat him like a stranger?"

"I told you to put some distance between you."

"You did that for me, Dad," Allison corrected angrily. "He can _read_."

"Look, Allison, he's made some bad choices. This isn't the same boy who used to sit in our den playing -"

" _Yes, it is!"_ Allison retorted. "If he lied to the police, he did it to protect his mother."

"My job is to protect you. I don't want you seeing him anymore. Period."

 **_oOo_**

Stiles and Lydia entered Stiles' mother's old room after finishing dinner. Stiles held his mother's book in his arm, holding it against his chest.

"Do you have any idea what made him break down and give it to you?"

Stiles sat down on the pink couch behind him, opening the book to the front page. "Um, maybe Morrell convinced him? She wants to talk, I can tell, every time she looks at me."

"Really? Every time she looks at me, I feel like someone's taking a potato peeler to my skin," Lydia mumbled. She sat down next to him, watching him flip through his mother's photo album.

"She knows more about my family than I do." Stiles froze, stopping at a picture of a smiling girl staring back at her.

Lydia leaned forward. "Who's that?"

"My mother, I think."

It was quiet. Lydia, deciding that Stiles probably wanted to be left alone, changed the topic. "Well, I'm gonna go take that bath now. You gonna be okay if I -?"

Stiles nodded. "Yeah."

"Okay. Unless you wanna join? No? Okay?" Lydia smiled as she got up and collected a pair of new clothes from her bag before disappearing into the bathroom.

As the door closed, Stiles flipped the page, he was surprised to see an envelope. Slowly, he opened it and began reading the letter to himself.

 _My dearest Stiles,_

 _your father and I can't wait for you to be born,_

 _to see your face, your eyes, your smile;_

 _to find out what you like, what you love . . ._

 **_oOo_**

The bathroom door slammed heavily behind Lydia, causing her to be startled.

It had a latch on it, instead of a lock in the doorknob which she was used to.

She bolted the door, to prevent someone from coming in uninvited, got undressed and began to draw the running bathwater. Once, it filled up to her desired limit, she stepped inside, sinking into its warmth, closing her eyes as she rested her head back against the tub.

Something rattled but she ignored it, thinking it was just a pipe. Old pipes did do that sometimes, she knew from experience, from staying at a friend's house. Curiously, she opened her eyes, wondering what it was. Looking above, she saw nothing but the clear shower curtain around her.

She was about to relax again, when all of a sudden, the faucet turned on by itself, allowing more water to flow into the tub heavily. She leaned forward, tugging at the knobs, but they seemed to be stuck, not budging no matter how hard she pulled. Then, the shower curtain dropped on top of her.

Lydia let out a shriek, seeing someone standing above her through the sheer material, as she choked on the water underneath her. She fought and twisted, trying to get it off of her.

Dear God, she was going to die, naked in the bathtub, with someone trying to murder her for some reason.

Finally, she bolted upright, tearing the shower curtain off of her, coughing up water as she tried to catch her breath. The handles for the faucet turned off when she tried them again, stopping the water from coming through. Water dripped from her hair as she looked around wildly, wondering who the hell was in the room with her.

No one was there.

But that was impossible! Someone had to have been in this same room as her. One look at the bathroom door confirmed her fear: it was unlocked.

Someone had gotten inside.

 **_oOo_**

"We didn't get off on this street. Are you sure the bus station is down here?" Stiles was telling her as they jaywalked a street. Probably the Main Street, but Lydia didn't care.

She wanted away from this place, no longer wanting anything to do with this creepy town whatsoever.

"Lydia!" Stiles shouted, snapping his fingers as he tried to get her attention.

Lydia snapped to, seeing Stiles looking at her with a worried expression. "What? Uh, yeah. I passed by this morning. I saw someone buying a ticket."

"Well, let's hope it wasn't the last one," Stiles said as they stepped into a crowded sidewalk filled with people hoping to see the parade. "So, uh, it wasn't just photos in the album. There was a letter from my mom. She wrote to me right before I was born. Yeah, I guess I was, um, kind of an unwelcome surprise, but by the time I was kicking, she really wanted to meet me."

"When did you read this?" Lydia asked, turning to look at him.

"While you were taking the longest bath in the history of bathing."

"I wasn't bathing," Lydia declared. "Your uncle tried to drown me."

He grabbed her arm, stopping them both in their tracks. "Wait, what?"

"Yeah, I closed my eyes, and next thing I knew I was being held underwater."

Stiles stared at her. "You know, we we haven't slept -"

"Stiles, it wasn't dozing, okay? Your wind had hands? My shower curtain had shoulders."

"Why would he go after you?" Stiles questioned, frowning.

Lydia shook her head uncertainly. "You tell me. Apparently switching those headstones wasn't enough to get us to leave."

The sound of Lydia's phone ringing drew her attention and she glanced at the Caller ID. "Oh, hey, it's my Mom. Um, I'm gonna take this. Okay, you just stay here. I'll get the tickets."

 **_oOo_**

Isaac Lahey decided after a long time of considering, that he was going to the goddamn parade everyone was talking about. But mostly, it was for Allison.

He was about to walk out of the front door, when he noticed his mom walking around in the living room in her housecoat.

"Hey," Melissa said wearily as she saw him.

"Mom, are you having nightmares again?"

"I hate disturbing Raphael," she replied tiredly. "I wake up and he wakes up. Neither one of us falls back asleep. It's just better if I'm down here."

"If you want, I could stay down here with you," Isaac offered, It's what she used to do whenever he had nightmares about his own dad.

"So I can disturb you?"

"No, so if you wake up and you need to talk, I'm here. You always used to do that for me. Did Chris Argent tell you that Allison found a huge office space just -"

"I'm not looking to run a clinic."

"Why not? I mean, we could use another one. Nobody wants to go to Dr. Fenris anymore. He's so old!"

Melissa cracked a smile. "He's not that old."

"Mom, when he coughs, there's dust," Isaac told her. "It's like when you beat a rug."

"Well, I'm not ready to treat the whole town."

"Sure you are. We need you."

Melissa sighed deeply. "You're gonna be late."

"Mom, what can I do?" Isaac pleaded. "I wanna help. I -"

"Honey, I don't need help," Melissa interrupted gently. "I just need some time to figure it out, okay? Everyone else in my unit is gone. I don't even know why I'm here. It doesn't make any sense that I'm the only one that survived the attack. If you see Allison tonight, tell her I said hello."

 **_oOo_**

"I made up the room across the hall from your nephew," Ms. Morrell said. "I'm guessing you'll want to be close to him."

"I don't expect them to be coming back here," Derek replied, scribbling his signature on another receipt.

Ms. Morrell paused. "It's not too late to fix this."

 **_oOo_**

Stiles fidgeted nervously as he waited for Lydia to return.

His body whirled around as he stared into the shop's window in front of him and gasped. It was the same human-like figure he'd thought he saw in his room. But right now, he could clearly see that it was a woman, who looked like she was drenched entirely in water.

He jumped backward, bumping into Lydia.

"You okay? What just happened?"

"I thought I saw her again in the window . . . that woman from my room," he managed out. When he turned to look again, no one was there.

It was official. He _had_ to be losing it.

Lydia looked past Stiles' shoulder and saw Allison coming off a street, heading a different direction.

"What? What is it? Is that the girl that you spoke to this morning?"

"Yeah, and our answer's in that basement," Lydia replied. "I wonder if she'd give us a little tour now that Daddy's not around."

"Well, what about the bus?" Stiles gestured with the pamphlet.

"We have time. Come on." She grabbed Stiles' hand and began tugging him toward the Beacon Hills Gazette.

 **_oOo_**

Allison checked the watch hanging around her neck for the billionth time.

She still had time.

If all went according to plan, she would be able to make her appearance in the parade.

Thank God, she was second to last. Down here in the morgue, she could still hear the faint cheers of the bystanders and the band playing.

She flipped the yellowed page carefully, poring over the huge book lying on the table in front of her. It was filled with old newspaper clippings from the past centuries. One headline screamed _**A Hero's Homecoming**_ while another page turn revealed this particular headline: _**Five Teens Killed**_ , with a picture of the five teenagers and a completely totaled bus.

The sound of the door rattling startled Allison and she jumped. "Hello? Dad?"

When she received no answer, she became uneasy, a feeling sinking through her as if someone else was in the room with her. She wasn't alone.

Slowly, she rose from her seat, eyes glancing around. Nobody was coming down the stairs. She sighed, then let out a loud gasp as she whirled around upon seeing Lydia. "What the hell? You scared me to death!"

Lydia winced. "Sorry, that wasn't the plan," she said sheepishly. "Stiles, this is Allison."

Allison gave Stiles a smile, still feeling goosebumps running over her arms.

"It's kind of late to be working, isn't it?" Stiles asked.

"It's kind of illegal for you to be here, isn't it?" Allison retorted.

"Look, I'm not the only one who saw my face on a grave last night. There's also a Stiles Stilinski buried in that cemetery," Lydia explained.

"And he looks just like me," Stiles cut in.

"So they're related to you. Distant aunts, uncles -" Allison started.

"It makes sense. We get it -"

"But what doesn't make sense is that somebody doesn't want us to know about it," Lydia chimed in for Stiles.

Stiles nodded as she spoke. "Last night we saw their graves, and then when we went back today, somebody had changed them out."

Allison took a deep breath, processing all of this. "Let's find out why."

The three of them stood over the large book, scanning the newspapers for any hints, any clues for whatever had happened. _**Remembering Victims of Years Past**_ , one newspaper article clipping read. They turned the page . . . and hit the jackpot.

Stiles' and Lydia's pictures stared back at them under **Obituaries** , with three other people's. Under Lydia's picture, it said:

 **Lydia Martin**

 **June 18, 1918**

 **A Life Cut Short**

 _ **Lydia Martin, 17, was among the young people who died tragically early Saturday evening during a boating expedition . . .**_

Lydia stared, then turned to meet Stiles' eyes. She knew he was staring at his own picture, which basically told the same thing. "They died on the same day," Lydia murmured. "They were a couple. It was a boating accident."

"There were five of them," Stiles noted.

"How old were they?" Allison asked.

"All the drowning victims were classmates. They were seniors."

Allison paused, biting her lower lip. "Can you flip back to the week before?"

Stiles and Lydia obeyed and Allison read the headline to herself, murmuring quietly.

 **A War Hero Returns:**

 **POW's miraculous story of survival.**

"What?" Lydia asked confused. "What is it?"

"Allison," Stiles called softly, trying to catch the girl's attention. Whatever she was thinking must've greatly disturbed her

Stiles caught sight on a lone light bulb swinging from its wire down a corner, indicating that someone must've walked by it. "Hey, guys? I don't think we're alone down here."

"Let's get out of here."

Allison closed the book, following after Stiles and Lydia as they exited the Gazette. Unbeknownst to them, Derek Hale was watching them from behind a tree.

"Wait, guys." Allison paused, smoothing out her pageant dress. It was simple, white, only falling above her knees. "I gotta do my thing, first. You wanna come?"

Stiles and Lydia agreed.

Moments later, they watched as Allison dashed to her arriving car in the nick of time with a blond boy and an Asian girl asking, " _Where the hell were you?"_ and Allison brushing it aside as she took her place on top of the car along the other girl. Lydia gave her a thumbs-up.

It all seemed fine and well, until suddenly, a man darted from the crowd and splashed his drink all over the girls. It looked like he'd been aiming for Allison, but his aim was completely off and ended up hitting the other girl - Kira, Lydia heard Allison say - instead.

The blond boy slammed on the brakes as the crowd gasped in shock. Kira slid out of her spot, taking off down the sidewalk with tears in her eyes.

"Kira, wait!" Allison shouted, beginning to go after her friend when Theo grabbed her arm.

"Did you see who did it?" he asked, just as Stiles and Lydia arrived.

"No," Allison replied.

"What happened?" Stiles and Lydia asked in unison. They looked at each other, surprised, but turned their attention back to the girl as she explained what happened.

 **_oOo_**

"Please don't say 'I told you so.'" Kira stammered, wiping her tears as she bumped into Isaac.

He stared her for a moment before draping his jacket over her shoulders as he led her away from the staring and prying eyes around them. "Let's go home," he said gently. "Scott will be there."

They traveled down an empty street, walking quietly until he broke it. "Your dad asked me to stay after class last week. He told me the two hardest things in life are knowing what you want and being able to say it out loud."

"Well, it's none of his business," Kira snapped. "I finally figured out what I want. I want to leave this town and disappear from everything."

"You know, you never told me this," Isaac told her. She must've told Scott though. Although, he could understand why they never talked to each other.

"With your mom locked in a room and you lashing out at everyone who looks at you the wrong way? It's been easier to pretend that I was okay."

"Well, you know, you can always tell me stuff. I mean, I don't want you feeling like you're alone in this -"

"Since your dad died, you haven't just pushed other people away. You've cut me out, too. You've pushed away Scott when he tried to help you and -" Kira stopped, taking a deep breath. "Look, I get why you're sad, but why are you so damn mad? Same goes for you, Isaac. You don't have to go through this alone."

"I think Mom did it," Isaac confessed after a moment. He could see Kira looking at him in surprise as he continued speaking. "I think she killed my dad."

 **_oOo_**

Allison exchanged her pageant dress for a more simpler outfit, a light green vest over a white sundress. Stiles and Lydia were in the car with her as Scott listened from the backseat, eyes searching for his girlfriend. Lydia sat in the passenger side while Stiles sat next to Scott.

"The reason why I was at the paper tonight was because of something my boyfriend's mom said," Allison began, revealing why she had been down in the basement of the Gazette. "She just got back from Afghanistan, and from what my boyfriend told me, she doesn't understand why she's here. Her entire troop was killed in an ambush, and she was the sole survivor."

"Sounds like his mom's a lucky woman," Stiles commented.

Scott looked toward him, taking his eyes off the window. "That's what it looks like."

"It must be really hard for her," Lydia said, turning in her seat to face the Hispanic boy. "I'm sorry."

"She's not telling you this story because I want you to be sorry for me and my brother," Scott started, but Allison cut him off.

"I'm telling you this story because I think you both might be a part of it. What I'm not connecting the dots. Your relatives both died just after a Beacon Hills soldier came home," Allison mused, keeping her eyes on the road. "Last year, I wrote a history paper on another Beacon Hills vet who miraculously survived an ambush, and when he came home he said exactly what your mom said, Scott. _"I don't know why I'm still here. I shouldn't be alive."_ Tonight I found out that a few days later, five Beacon Hills teenagers were killed in a car accident. They were hit by a tree."

"So, the idea is these kids died because those soldiers got lucky like your mom?" Stiles asked Scott.

"I'm not saying it's because," Allison said. "I'm just saying it happened."

"Twice," Lydia reminded her.

"Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, three times is enemy action," Stiles remembered.

"That's profound."

"It's Goldfinger," Stiles replied, shooting Lydia a look.

"Bond?" Allison asked, cocking an eyebrow in frame in the rear view mirror.

Stiles chuckled. "Heh. Hey, how much further to that diner? I have an uneasy feeling in my stomach. I need some greasy fries to settle it."

"It's just over the river," Allison answered.

"So, I guess we're not making that bus?" Lydia looked toward Stiles.

He shook his head. "No, we'll catch the next one."

Allison slowed the car down as she drove, spotting the silhouette of two teenagers walking with their backs to them. "Guys, that's my boyfriend and Kira."

Stiles sighed. "Let's keep this to ourselves."

Lydia rubbed her temple. "I don't even know what "this" is."

As the car stopped, Scott jumped out of the backseat, running to his girlfriend. The two shared a passionate kiss while Isaac looked away awkwardly. He met Allison's eyes, smiled, then noticed Stiles and Lydia.

"Want a lift?" Allison asked after rolling down the passenger window. "Gonna pour any second."

Isaac's eyes flicked toward Lydia. She must've figured that he remembered her from the diner earlier. "What are you doing with her?"

Kira, stepping away from Scott's embrace, looked toward both boys as lighting flashed in the sky. "I really don't want to walk home in the rain," she said.

Isaac hesitated. "Fine."

Stiles scooted over, allowing Scott to slide in, then Kira and Isaac. They were all squished together and Lydia willed herself not to laugh. Stiles shot her a _Don't you dare_ look.

"How was the parade?" Allison asked, her eyes on her boyfriend as he avoided looking at her. She didn't remember seeing him there and she wondered if he had went, to come and support her.

"Uh, Ally, you mind turning up the song?" Isaac spoke instead, deliberately changing the topic.

Allison smiled sadly. "Sure."

 _Oh, if I could go back in time_

 _When you only held me in my mind_

 _Just a longing gone without a trace_

Derek Hale sat in his chair, pondering his next move, a glass of wine in his hand . . .

 _Oh, I wish I'd never ever seen your face_

 _I wish you were the one_

 _Wish you were the one that got away_

A warning sign that reminded them that there was a **Bridge Ahead**. The yellow glint faded away as the sign zipped by as Allison drove on . . .

 _Oh, if I could go back in time_

 _When you only held me in my mind_

 _Just a longing gone without a trace_

 _Oh, I wish I'd never . . ._

Lydia sat up carefully, praying that her eyes weren't playing tricks on her. As she peered closer, she could definitely see that someone was standing in the middle of the road.

" _LOOK OUT!"_ Lydia shrieked, grabbing the wheel from Allison. The car spun, then vaulted through the railing for the bridge, plunging into the river below.

Muffled screams emitted from the sinking car as the ghost looked on triumphantly on the bridge before whisking away to mist, thunder crackling as rain poured down.

" _Help!"_

" _Let's get out!"_

" _Help!"_

The radio continued, playing the last few lyrics that were sure to be their final words . . .

 _. . ._ _seen your face_

 _I wish you were the one_

 _Wish you were the one that got away._

As on cue, the thunder synced and ended as the last note on the dying radio finished and ended.

 **The first of the five has died.**

 **Who is it?**

 **Special thanks to:**

 **awkwxrd, MsAwesome, and** **imashuckingwolf0728.**


End file.
